


Damage

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s08e06 Southern Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 18:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1575749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fight in Southern Comfort has consequences no one could have foreseen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam held the phone to his ear as he unlocked the motel room door. He didn’t understand why Dean wasn’t answering his phone, and he was getting worried. As he swung open the door, he heard the sound of a phone ringing. He looked across the room and saw Dean sitting on the edge of the bed. His phone was sitting beside him.

“Dean? What the hell, man? We went to the hospital. You're not answering your phone.”

Dean looked at Sam coldly and then got smoothly to his feet. Locking eyes with his brother, he raised the gun and directed it at Sam.

“You should have looked for me when I was in Purgatory.”

Sam swallowed thickly. He saw the black goo seeping from Dean’s ear, and he internally winced. “Come on, Dean. I know it's not you in there pulling the strings,”

“Shut up!” Dean snapped, then his eyes flickered to Garth who was in the process of pulling his gun from his belt. “Don't!” Garth dropped his hands and Dean turned his attention to Sam again. “You never even wanted this life. Always blamed me for pulling you back into it.”

“That's not true,” Sam said automatically. It wasn’t the life he would have chosen for himself, but it was his life now and that was all that mattered.

“Really? 'Cause everything you've ever done since you climbed into my ride has been to deceive me.”

“What do you want me to say?” Sam asked. “That I've made mistakes? I've made mistakes, Dean.”

“That's not Dean, Sam,” Garth said.

He was wrong, though. It was Dean’s thoughts the specter was using. He believed these things, even if he wouldn’t usually say them.

“Shut up!” Dean’s attention flickered to Garth for a second before it settled on Sam once again. “Mistakes? Well, let's go through some of Sammy's greatest hits. Drinking demon blood, check. Being in cahoots with Ruby. Not telling me that you lost your soul. Or how about running around with Samuel for a whole year, letting me think that you were dead while you're doing all kinds of crazy. Those aren't mistakes, Sam. Those are choices!”

“All right.” Sam shook his head jerkily. “You said it. We've both played a little fast and loose.”

“Yeah, I might have lied, but I never once betrayed you. I never once left you to die. And for what, a girl? You left me to die for a girl?”

Sam snapped his hand out and grabbed Dean’s hand that was holding the gun. With Dean distracted, he brought his fist up in a fierce right hook. Dean’s head snapped to the side, but he didn’t release his grip on the gun. Sam uses Dean’s momentum to shove him into the glass room divider. The glass smashed and settled on Dean’s shoulders.

Dean was winded by the punch to the gut Sam landed on him and then stunned as Sam brought his fist back and punched him in the face again, but he didn’t loosen his hold on the gun. He backhanded Sam across the jaw, and while Sam was reeling from that shock, he brought his head forward in a violent head butt. Sam’s head snapped forward, and Dean used his confusion to kick him in the gut.

Sam flew across the room and into the couch. As he landed, he cracked his head on the floor. He pushed himself up to lean on the couch and tried to think past the suddenly pounding in his head.

Dean raised the gun, taking aim at his fallen brother.

Garth jumped between them with his arms outstretched. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!”

“Garth, don't,” Sam moaned.

“No, he won't kill me. His beef isn't with me. You're not gonna shoot me, are you, Dean?”

Dean pointed the gun at Garth. “Move.”

“Come on, Dean. You do not want to kill your brother. You—you've been protecting him your whole life. Don't stop now.”

“He left me to rot in Purgatory!” Dean snarled.

“All right. All right. Maybe he did. I don't know. I wasn't there. But I'm sure he had his reasons.”

“Just like you had your reasons for Benny,” Sam said breathlessly.

Garth turned to look at Sam. “Who?”

“Benny has been more of a brother to me this past year than you've _ever_ been! That's right. Cas let me down. You let me down. The only person that hasn't let me down is Benny.”

Dean’s words hurt Sam, but the emotional pang was eclipsed by the pounding in his head. He felt like he was going to be sick from the pain. His vision swam before his eyes, and he knew he was seconds away from losing consciousness.

“I know you're angry. But, man, you got to fight this thing,” Garth implored. “Do not do this! Just let it go. Come on, Dean.”

Dean stepped around Garth aimed the gun at his brother. “Goodbye, Sam.”

Garth grabbed Dean’s arm and swung at him with a powerful right hook that sent Dean’s head reeling back. His hand opened and the penny dropped to the floor with a soft tinkle.

Garth jumped on the spot, cradling his newly injured right hand. “Ow! God!”

Dean stumbled on his feet and looked around dazedly. He felt like he was emerging from deep water. He was in the motel, but the last thing he remembered was being in the hospital. Garth was hopping on the spot, clutching his hand, and Sam was on the floor, leaning back against the couch with a bloody nose. What had happened here?

Sam saw Garth bend down to pick up the penny, and he tried to shout a warning, but his words came out slurred.

Garth and Dean’s eyes snapped to him in time to see Sam slide gracelessly down the couch onto the floor. His eyes fluttered closed and his head lolled to the side.

“Sam?” Dean stared at his brother in shock. He felt rooted to the spot.

Garth knelt beside Sam. “Sam! Open your eyes, man. Don’t do this.” When Sam didn’t respond, he turned panicked eyes onto Dean. “Call an ambulance!”

Garth’s words broke Dean’s paralysis; he lurched forward and dropped to his knees beside his brother. “Hey, hey, hey. Sammy. Open your eyes, man.” He tapped his face gently.

Garth caught Dean’s hand as he reached for Sam again. “Stop that! He’s got a head injury!”

Dean snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned. He thought that he could hurt Sam made him sick to his stomach.

“Garth, what happened to him?” he asked.

“Not now,” Garth said abruptly. He pulled a phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. “Hello. I need an ambulance to the Jesse James Motel. We have a head injury with unconsciousness.”

That done, he dropped his phone onto the floor again and returned his attention to Sam. He pressed fingertips to Sam’s neck, breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the steady pounding of life against his fingers. He pinched Sam’s earlobe and spoke loudly. “Sam. I want you to open your eyes.”

Sam’s eyes rolled beneath their lids and then cracked open. “What happened?” he asked drowsily.

“Sammy? You okay?” Dean asked.

Sam looked at his brother fearfully. He half expected him to pull the gun out again. But there was no anger in Dean’s expression now; he merely looked scared.

Dean saw the fear in Sam’s eyes, and he wondered what had happened. He racked his brain for a memory of what had happened, but it was all confused and fragmented.

Sam was uncomfortable on floor. He felt like an invalid with Dean and Garth leaning over him. He tried to sit up, but Garth held him down with a hand on the shoulder.

“You shouldn’t move, Sam. An ambulance is coming.”

“An ambulance!” Sam shrugged off Garth’s restraining arm and pushed himself to a sitting position, leaning back against the couch. He still felt weak, and his head was pounding. “I don’t need an ambulance.” He looked to Dean for support, but Dean was staring down at hi, looking horrified; he was no help.

Garth looked at him with a serious expression that looked odd on a face usually given to smiling. “Sam, you had a couple of good cracks to the head, and you were unconscious for two minutes. That’s not good.”

Sam shook his pounding head and immediately regretted it; it made his vision flicker. “I’m fine, Garth.”

Dean and Garth exchanged a concerned look. Though the words had sounded fine to Sam, they had come out garbled and slurred.

“Sammy, I think you should lie down,” Dean said in a voice filled with fear. There was something seriously wrong with his brother.

As if Dean’s thought had been the trigger, Sam paled and slid slowly sideways.

Dean caught him and supported his in his arms. “Sammy. You okay, buddy?”

“Dean, don’t feel so good,” Sam slurred. There was ringing in his ears, and his vision blurred as if he was looking through frosted glass.

“Let’s lay him down,” Garth said calmly.

Dean was loathe to release his brother, but Garth sounded like he knew what he was talking about, so he eased Sam down to the floor again, grabbing a blanket from the bed to use as a pillow.

Sam looked up at the white ceiling through misted eyes. The ringing in his ears was growing louder, and the pounding in his head was growing impossibly more painful. He raised a hand to massage his temples, but it felt like it was weighted.

Then, with no outward warning than Dean and Garth could see, Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head and he started to convulse on the floor. Dean grabbed for Sam’s head, but Garth smacked his hands away. “You’ll hurt him!”

Dean watched helplessly as Sam seized. His head buffeted against the blanket Dean had set beneath his head, and his heels rapped the floor as his legs flailed.

Garth was timing the seizure by his watch, silently mouthing the seconds as they progressed. Dean didn’t notice this. For him, the room was empty of all but him and his brother. He wanted to touch Sam, to comfort him, but he was scared that he could hurt him. He was forced to watch uselessly as Sam suffered.

“It’s okay, Sam. I’m here,” he whispered. “You’re not alone.”

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the convulsions stopped, leaving Sam limp on the floor. Dean reached for him, and this time Garth didn’t stop him. He turned Sam’s head so he was facing him and threaded a hand through his hair. “You’re okay, now, Sammy,” he whispered.

Sam drew in a deep breath, then exhaled in a slow rasp. Dean watched, waiting for the next indrawn breath, but it didn’t come.

“Sam!” Dean gasped.

Garth jumped into action. He tilted Sam’s head back and lowered his cheek over Sam’s mouth, waiting to feel the breath against his skin. It didn’t come though. He pressed his fingers to Sam’s throat searching for an absent pulse. With a twisting of panic in his gut, he opened Sam’s mouth and breathed two deep breaths into his lungs. “Dean, do you know CPR?” he asked. “Dean!”

Dean had been frozen in place, watching his brother, but Garth’s voice broken through his paralysis, and he got to his knees beside his brother and began chest compressions. He heard a sick crack sound, and he lurched back. He had hurt his brother.

“It doesn’t matter,” Garth said harshly, pushing him aside and restarting the chest compressions.

Dean sat back on his heels, numb with shock as Garth performed CPR on his brother. He stared into Sam’s blank face as Garth worked to save his life.

In the distance, they heard the sound of the ambulance’s siren approaching.

“Dean, open the door,” Garth commanded even as he pushed air into Sam’s unmoving lungs.

Dean scrambled to his feet and flung open the door as the ambulance pulled into the parking lot. “Over here!” he shouted.

Two EMT’s jumped from the wagon and jogged across the lot towards the door. Dean stepped back to let them pass, and as soon as they were in, he returned to his brother’s side.

“Okay, we’ve got it,” one of the EMT’s said, easing Garth aside. “What happened here?”

“He fell and took a nasty blow to the head. He lost consciousness, but awoke and was responding before the seizure hit. He seized for five minutes, and when it passed his heart stopped and he wasn’t breathing. We started CPR immediately.” Garth spoke clearly and calmly, telling the EMT’s all they needed to know.

“You did good,” the EMT said.

Dean watched as Sam’s shirt was cut open and electrodes were placed on his chest. They were connected to a portable monitor that tracked a flat line where Sam’s heartbeat should be.

“We’ve got asystole! Start a line.”

The younger of the EMT’s inserted an IV line into be back of Sam’s hand, and he injected a clear fluid into it. “Epi in.”

Dean watched the heart monitor, searching for a sign of life in Sam, but there was none. The EMT started chest compressions again, as his fellow opened a case and unloaded what Dean recognized as a defibrillator. The sight of it stole the strength from Dean’s legs, and he wavered on his feet. Garth snapped to his side and led him to the edge of the bed. Dean sank down onto the lumpy mattress, keeping his eyes fixed on his brother.

“Clear!”

A button on the defibrillator was pressed and Sam’s back arched upwards as electricity passed through him. Everyone looked to the heart monitor, hoping for a sign of movement, but there was none.

“Charge again!” the older EMT said. “Clear!”

Sam’s back arched from the bed again, and Dean winced. As Sam’s back thumped down to the floor again, there was beeping from the heart monitor. Where there had been nothing, there was now a steady rise and fall as Sam’s heartbeat was recorded.

“We’ve got him.”

Dean felt the heavy weight that had been constricting his chest ease as the words penetrated him. They had Sam back. He wasn’t gone. He had come too damn close though.

The EMT’s worked over Sam, snapping a brace around his neck, and loading him onto a gurney.

“We’ve got to get him to the hospital,” the younger EMT said. “Are you coming with him?”

“You go,” Garth said, clapping Dean on the shoulder. “I’ll follow in the car.”

Dean looked at Garth and words failed him. There was so much that needed to be said, but he couldn’t find the words.

“It’s okay,” Garth said. “You take care of your brother. I’ll catch you later.”

Dean followed the gurney out to the ambulance and climbed in, keeping his eyes fixed on Sam’s face. He was scared if he looked away, Sam’s heart would fail again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Garth wasn’t being entirely altruistic when he told Dean to go in the ambulance. He wanted a break from Dean so he could marshal his thoughts. He was in shock after everything that happened, and there was still more to come. Dean needed to know everything that had happened at the motel, and it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation for either of them. Garth hoped Dean would be distracted by Sam long enough for Garth to come up with a gentle way to tell him he beat down on his brother.

He watched the ambulance pull away and then climbed into his beat up old Ranchero. He gunned the engine and flicked off the radio. He didn’t want music pounding his ears right now; he had other things to worry about.

The drive to the hospital only took a few minutes, and soon he was walking through the emergency room doors. He searched the waiting room for a sign of Dean, but he was nowhere in sight.

He made his way to the reception desk to enquire about Sam when his attention was caught by shouting through the main doors. A second later, Dean came flying through the doors followed by two burly looking orderlies.

“Well, screw you too!” Dean bellowed.

Garth ran to his side, and gripped his arm. “Dean, what’s happening?”

“They won’t let me see Sam!” Dean snarled.

“Sir, he’s being tended to right now. You will only be in the doctor’s way in there. You need to stay out here. Someone will come talk to you when there is news.”

Dean surged forward, as if he was about to attack the orderly that had spoken, but Garth wrapped his arms around his chest and pulled him back.

“Calm down!” he said forcefully.

“Did you hear them?” Dean demanded.

“Yeah, I heard them, and I heard what they said. They’ll tell us when there’s news. All that you’re doing by kicking off his taking people away that could be helping Sam.”

Garth words reached Dean like nothing else could. By keeping these people from Sam, he was putting him at risk. He slackened in Garth’s grip, and allowed himself to be led to the bank of chairs lining the room. He sat down stiffly, keeping his back ramrod straight, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice.

“Feeling better?” Garth asked.

Dean turned to face him and scowled. As if anything could be better while Sam was behind that wall, barely clinging onto life.

“Stupid question,” Garth amended. “How’s he doing?”

Dean looked down at the floor. “He coded again in the ambulance. They had to shock him.” Dean couldn’t find words to convey the horror he had felt as the alarms had screamed and the EMT had worked frantically to save Sam. There were no words.

“They got him back though, right?” Garth didn’t think an army of orderlies would have been able to drag Dean away from his brother if the answer was no.

“Yeah. It took a couple of goes, but they got his heart going again.” Dean shuddered. The memory of those minutes waiting crept in on him, and he felt like his heart was being squeezed in his chest. It was horror so great it was a physical entity.

“That’s good,” Garth said in a rallying tone. “They’ll take good care of him, Dean. Don’t worry.”

Dean knew Garth was only trying to help, but his platitudes did nothing but annoy him. How could he not worry after everything he had seen happen to Sam in the last hour? His brother had died, dammit, twice. If there was ever a time to worry, it was now.

Dean bowed his head and clasped his hands between his knees. To an outsider, he looked like he was praying. He wasn’t praying though. He knew there was no one listening. What he was doing was mentally willing his brother to pull through. He focused all his thought on that simple wish.

“Do you want something?” Garth asked, at a loss for something to do. He wasn’t good at tense moments like this. His instinct was to try and comfort Dean, but he didn’t know the words to use.

“No thanks,” Dean said tonelessly.

“I think I’ll get us some coffee,” Garth said. He got to his feet, and disappeared through a door to the main hospital lobby where Dean knew from his earlier visit to the hospital there was a coffee cart.

Glad of the chance to be alone, Dean lifted his head and looked around the large room. There were people all sitting in chairs, some with minor injuries, some chaperoning the injured, and others like him, waiting for news of a loved one.

Dean felt tears prick at his eyes, but he refused them their release. To cry would make him feel a little better, and he had no right to feel better. Something terrible had happened to Sam. And he had a secret fear that it was his fault. His knuckles hurt, and his jaw ached. He had been fighting, just like Sam looked like he had been fighting. Somehow, whatever that penny had made him do, had caused this nightmare.

A nurse came through the doors, and Dean recognized her from the trauma room he had been forcibly evicted from.

Dean jumped to his feet as the nurse approached. “How is he?” he asked at once.

“Sam is in critical condition,” the nurse said. “They are taking him down for a CT scan now.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Dean asked.

“There are signs of a bleed in the brain. We believe it is a result of the trauma he suffered.”

The strength was stolen from Dean’s legs. He sank down onto the chair again and buried his face in his hands. He had a hundred questions, but no voice with which to ask them. He felt weak and shaky. All he was capable of doing was asking in a childlike tone, “Will he be okay?”

“We’re doing all we can. If they find a bleed, they will take him straight down to surgery.”

“Brain surgery?” Dean asked tremulously.

“It’s not nearly as scary as it sounds. Depending on where the bleeds and how bad it is, they will use either a craniotomy or trephination.”

“I’m hearing a lot of scary words here,” Dean said. “All I want to know is if my brother’s going to be okay.”

“We’re doing all we can,” the nurse said again. “He’s a fighter though. He’s come this far. You have to have faith that he will make it the rest of the way through.”

“Faith…” Dean sighed. Sam was the one who had faith, or at least used to. Dean didn’t know what he believed in anymore. All Dean knew was that God did exist but he was prepared to sit back on earth and let his children tear the world apart in some macho pissing contest. Dean found it hard to have faith in that kind of God. “I don’t have faith in anything anymore.”

“Have faith in Sam,” the nurse said. “He’s fighting to stay with you.”

Her words gave Dean some small measure of comfort, and he nodded to her. Sam was fighting. That was the important thing.

The nurse patted him on the arm, and stood. “There is a private waiting room, located off the main ER. Would you prefer to wait there?”

“Please,” Dean said, getting to his feet again. “There’s a guy with me. He’s a tall kid, kind of gawky looking. Dressed like an extra in an Indiana Jones movie. Can you tell him where I’ve gone?”

“Is that him?”

Dean looked in the direction she was pointing, and he saw Garth coming back to him, holding two cups of coffee. He paused midstep as he saw Dean with the nurse, and Dean gestured him forward.

“Is everything okay?” Garth asked.

“We’ve got ourselves a private waiting room,” Dean explained.

Garth nodded enthusiastically and beamed at the nurse. “Okay then.”

They followed her through the double doors and onto the main ER wing. The corridor was lined with curtained off cubicles, and from behind the curtains, there were occasional groans. The place made Dean’s skin crawl, and he was glad to get to the end of the hall.

The nurse opened a door and gestured them in ahead of her.

Dean looked around the small room. It was decorated in pastels, and had comfy looking couches. As nice as the room looked, he couldn’t help but think it looked like the kind of place doctors brought family members to deliver bad news.

He sat on the edge of one of the couches, and took the cup of coffee Garth held out to him.

Sipping at the burning liquid, he filled Garth in on what the nurse had said.

“That’s good, right?” Garth said. “They’re taking him for a scan, which means they think they know what’s wrong with him.”

“Yeah, they think it’s a bleed in the brain.”

Garth chewed his bottom lip. He knew how bad a brain bleed could be and the risks involved.

“What is it?” Dean asked, seeing Garth’s troubled expression. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.” Garth shook his head jerkily.

Dean turned angry eyes on him. “Tell me or I swear I’ll beat you down. That’s my brother in there, and if you know what’s happening to him, I need to know, too.”

Garth raised his hands in front of him. He didn’t want Dean to follow through with his threat, and he knew he was more than capable of doing it. He had seen the proof of Dean’s temper in the motel.

“It’s bad, Dean,” he said quietly. “Sam’s in trouble.”

“I worked that much out for myself, thanks. Watching your brother die in front of you twice is a clue that all’s not good. But they’re going to operate. Then he’ll be fine, right?”

Garth nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’m sure once they’ve drained the blood, Sam will be fine.”

He was lying through his teeth. There were serious consequences for a bleed as bad as Sam’s, and Garth knew it. And it had been a bad bleed to cause Sam to seize and his heart to stop. Garth was being a coward, and he didn’t deny it, but he didn’t want to be the one to deliver that blow to Dean. That was the doctor’s responsibility.

They allowed the silence to lengthen before Dean spoke again. “I guess I owe you my thanks. You were brilliant back at the motel. You stayed calm and in control. Don’t get me wrong, I know CPR, but I lost my head back there. You saved Sam’s life.”

Garth looked a little uncomfortable under Dean’s heady praise. “It’s all in the training, Dean.”

“Training?”

“I’m a certified EMT,” Garth said simply. “I got my certification about a year ago. Just after you guys disappeared. People were calling on me about demons and fuglys, and I didn’t always know what to tell them. Once I taught myself everything I could about them, I moved onto humans. I figured it was best to be prepared.”

“Yeah, Bobby used to know all the medical stuff for us,” Dean said sadly.

“Exactly. I didn’t know what to tell people, so I went out a learned what I needed to know.”

“That’s pretty impressive, Garth,” Dean said, drawn from his fear for Sam for a moment.

Garth blushed. “It was nothing. I recommend it to anyone though. You need to know how to take care of yourself.”

“As soon as Sammy’s back on his feet, we’ll look into it,” Dean said. He made that a promise, taking comfort in that day of normalcy in the future to look forward to. When Sam was back on his feet and this nightmare was forgotten.

Silence set in between them again. Both of their thoughts were with Sam. They were wondering what was happening to him, and what would happen when they woke again. Dean was contemplating all he would say to Sam when they saw him again, how he would give him hell for scaring him like this. Garth on the other hand, took a more dour view. He was wondering how bad the consequences of the day’s events would be.


	3. Chapter 3

After an hour of waiting, the nurse came back to them. They jumped to their feet at her arrival.

 

"I've just had a call from radiology," she said. "Your brother is being taken down to the operating room now."

 

Dean swallowed thickly. "Brain surgery..."

 

She nodded. "I know it sounds scary, but we have one of the best neurological teams in the country here. They're doing their best for you brother."

 

Dean nodded and sank back down onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. His brother was having brain surgery. No matter how good the surgeon was, it was still serious, and his brother was facing it alone. More than anything, Dean wanted to be with Sam. He was scared and the only thing that could make him feel better was talking to his brother. But Sam couldn't talk; even now, he was being cut open. The thought made Dean feel queasy, and he retched.

 

"You okay. Dean?" Garth asked solicitously.

 

Dean shook his head and clapped a hand over his mouth. He raced from the room and searched for a bathroom. Three doors down there was a sign over the door declaring it the gents' room. He raced in and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet bowl. His stomach lurched, and he lost the burger and fries he'd had for lunch into the toilet. His stomach cramped painfully, and his mouth watered copiously. When his stomach was empty, he sat back on his heels and wiped his sweaty brow.

 

The bathroom door opened and Garth stepped in. "Dean?"

 

"I'm here," Dean said.

 

Garth stood outside Dean's cubicle, and he looked in at him with a sympathetic expression.

 

"You okay?"

 

Dean shook his head. He was feeling far from okay. His stomach churned again, and he bent over the bowl.

 

Garth disappeared for a moment, and when he came back, he was holding a plastic tumbler. He filled it with water from the faucet and handed it to Dean. Dean took the tumbler and rinsed the water around his mouth and then spat it into the toilet. He still felt weak and shaky, so he leaned back against the cubicle wall and rested a cool hand to his sweaty brow.

 

"Sorry," he said. "You shouldn't have to deal with all this."

 

Garth shrugged. "You and Sam are my friends. I just want to help."

 

"You are helping," Dean said. "Man, you saved Sammy's life tonight. If you hadn't been there, who knows what would have happened."

 

Garth didn't need to think too hard to envisage what would have happened if he hadn't been there. Dean had been ready and willing to shoot Sam in repayment of all his listed crimes.

 

He shuddered and Dean caught the motion from the corner of his eye.

 

"What's up?" he asked.

 

Garth shook his head and forced a smile. "Nothing."

 

Dean pushed himself to his feet and stepped around Garth to examine himself in the mirror. He looked pale and sweaty and there were a glittering in his eyes that he didn't like. It looked too much like unshed tears. He wanted to cry, dammit. He wanted the release of tears, it would make him feel better, but he couldn't let himself. He had a fear that if he started, he would never stop. Besides, he didn't deserve to feel better. He had a creeping feeling that this whole mess was his fault. He knew he should ask Garth what had happened, as the events were a blank to him, but he was scared of what he might hear.

 

Garth watched Dean as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He knew soon Dean was going to ask what had happened to Sam, and he dreaded the moment. He didn't want to have to tell Dean that he had beaten his brother.

 

As he could read Garth's mind, Dean spoke up.

 

"Garth," he said, staring determinedly at the sink. "What happened back there?"

 

Garth rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "What do you remember?""

 

"Not a lot," Dean said quietly. "I was here at the hospital with the deputy, and then I was in the motel and Sam was on the floor. Everything between is a blank."

 

Garth cursed under his breath. He was hoping Dean would have at least some idea of what had happened so it wouldn't all be on him to explain how Dean had beat his brother into a cardiac arrest.

 

"What is it?" Dean asked, a sick feeling of dread settling over him.

 

Garth's hands clenched at his sides. "I don't know how to tell you, Dean."

 

Dean sighed a raked a hand through his hair. "I think it's better if you just come out and tell me. I think I already know what happened anyway."

 

Garth looked up and it was clear from his expression that he would rather do anything than confirm Dean's suspicions. "You… uh… you and Sam had a fight," he said awkwardly.

 

Dean nodded. "I figured. And I'm guess that it was more than a few thrown punches."

 

Garth looked down at his clasped hands, thinking of how to frame his response. "You may have said some stuff, too. You kinda unloaded."

 

Dean bowed his head. He could imagine the things the penny had made his say. All the things he had kept hidden in his heart up to that time, all the cruel things he had stopped himself from saying as he knew they would open a breach between him and his brother.

 

"You blamed him for not looking for you when you were in Purgatory," Garth said mercilessly. "And for a bunch of other stuff, some of it I understood, some I didn't."

 

"Let me guess," Dean said. "Someone named Ruby and demon blood."

 

"Yeah, and someone called Samuel. You seemed to think Sam had let you believe he was dead when really he was running around with that guy."

 

Dean was stunned. That was more than something he had bitten his lip and refused to say aloud. He had never blamed Sam for allowing him to think he was dead. That wasn't Sam's fault, not his Sam's. That Sam had been soulless. He'd had no familial bond to Dean, no love for him; he wasn't capable of loving without his soul.

 

His hands clenched into fists so tight that his nails cut into his palms. He relished in the pain, using it to ground him in the moment rather than allowing his mind to travel back to the motel and the horror he had both seen and portrayed there.

 

"Sam didn't take it lying down," Garth said as if that could ease the ache in Dean's chest. "He stood up for himself…"

 

Of course he had. He didn't have a choice with Dean flinging accusations at him.

 

"Dean!" Garth gripped Dean's shoulder. "You didn't do this to your brother. The penny did."

 

"You said we fought," Dean said.

 

"You did, but Sam started it."

 

Dean huffed a laugh. "That defense only works in Kindergarten. I made him fight me. If he'd been saying the things you said I was spouting, I would have thrown a punch too."

 

Garth nodded determinedly and stared at the opposite wall. "Yeah…"

 

"What are you hiding, Garth?" Dean asked.

 

"You may have been pointing a gun at Sam the whole time too. That was why you fought. Sam tackled you to get the gun."

 

Dean felt a moan build in his chest, and he bit it back with effort. He had pointed a gun at his brother! The bad news just seemed to keep on coming. Not only had he beaten his brother so bad his heart had stopped, he had pointed a gun at him too. He could have killed him! He still could. Sam was fighting for his life right now because of what Dean had done.

 

He couldn't bear to sit in that room anymore. He wanted to be in motion, doing something, anything, to help his brother, but he didn't know what. He began to pace up and down the length of the small room. It wasn't enough. He felt like he was suffocating in the enclosed space.

 

"Come on," Garth said. "We should head back to the family room. There might be news soon."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Three hours later, a man dressed in crumpled scrubs came into their room and introduced himself as Doctor Benson.

 

After hours of waiting for news, Dean was suddenly scared of what he was going to hear. He was tempted to walk out of the room and go in search of his brother, refusing to listen to the doctor's words, but he forced himself to stay in place.

 

"How's Sam?" he asked.

 

"The surgery was a success," the doctor said. "We were able to drain away the excess blood and there was no visible tissue damage."

 

"So he's okay," Dean said, breathing a sigh of relief.

 

The doctor shifted uncomfortably and Dean caught the motion.

 

"What's wrong?" he asked.

 

"There is no visible sign of damage, but that's not to say there is no damage. It was a large bleed. Commonly in cases like this, there is an obvious shift. The blood forces the brain against the opposite side of the skull, damaging tissue. This did not happen to your brother, but there was increased pressure for a sustained period of time, and there may be consequences."

 

"You're talking about brain damage?" Dean said in a breathy voice.

 

The doctor nodded, looking apologetic. "I'm afraid so."

 

It felt like the air had been sucked from the room. Dean couldn't catch his breath. He braced his hands on his knees and tried to draw a deep breath. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he knew Garth was doing his best to comfort him.

 

The doctor was still talking, but it was white noise to Dean. The word 'damage' was reverberating around his mind.

 

"What's going to happen to him?" he asked in a whisper.

 

"It's too soon to tell," the doctor said. "Until your brother wakes, we won't know the level of damage we are looking at. That's if he wakes. It was a serious bleed, and there is no guarantee that he will regain consciousness."

 

Dean felt like he had been punched in the gut. He actually rocked back in his seat as if from an invisible blow. He felt like he was going to be sick again. "He might not wake up," he said in a hoarse voice. "Is that what you're telling me? That my baby brother might not wake up."

 

"I'm afraid so," the doctor said heavily. "You need to prepare yourselves for the possibility that your brother may not wake up from this."

 

Dean's hands fisted on his knees. He wanted to rant and rave at the doctor, to tell him he knew nothing, but he was frozen in place. Sam may not wake up. How was Dean supposed to make this right if he couldn't talk to his brother?

 

"Say Sam does wake up," Garth said, "what sort of damage are we talking about here?"

 

If Dean could have spoken, he would have cursed at Garth for asking this question. He didn't want to know the answer. He didn't want the doctor to say anything else, as every word he spoke injured Dean.

 

"Cognitive and physical delays. Difficulty with memory retention. Absence of past memories."

 

Every word hit Dean like a barb. Even if his unspoken prayers were answered, and Sam woke up, he could still be lost. He might not know Dean. The thought of it made his stomach churn again.

 

"I want to see him," he said in a whisper, and then he raised his voice when the doctor continued speaking. "I need to see my brother!"

 

The doctor straightened. "Of course. He is in the ICU. I'll take you there now."

 

Dean stood on shaky legs and followed the doctor out of the room. They walked through a series of corridors until they came to an elevator. The doctor pressed the button and Dean waited, tapping his foot, for it to arrive. All his patience was gone now; he just wanted to be with his brother.

 

The car arrived and they stepped in. Dean's hands fisted as he waited out the short ride to the fourth floor. When the elevator came to a stop, they were in a brightly lit corridor with glass-screened doors lining the walls. It was quiet; the only sound their soft footfalls.

 

The doctor led Dean to a door at the end of the hall and paused outside the door. "It can come as a shock to see someone like this, so it's best you prepare yourself," he said.

 

Dean nodded curtly. "I'm prepared. Let's just get in there."

 

The doctor slid the door open and gestured for Dean to enter.

 

He stepped inside and froze in place at the sight before him. Sam was lying on a bed with his hands resting at his side, looking perfectly still. He was surrounded by a bank of machinery, and there were tubes leading from him in every direction. His skin was pale, and his head was swaddled in clean white bandages with a tube leading from them. In short, he looked terrible.

 

Dean had lied. He wasn't prepared for this. There was no way he could have been prepared to see his brother like this.

 

"Ahhh, I see they have extubated him," the doctor said. "That's good news. Your brother is able to breathe on his own."

 

Dean found it had to take comfort in the fact that his brother breathing alone was a positive sign. It just reiterated how dire his condition was.

 

He stepped closer to the bed, and the bad news was increased. There was a bruise darkening on Sam's temple and left cheek. Dean had left those marks on his brother. It had been his fists that had impacted Sam's flesh with intent to damage him. How could the penny have made his do that to his own brother?

 

The doctor cleared his throat. "I'll leave you both alone for a moment. If you have any questions or if anything happens, there is a call button beside the bed. Speak to a nurse and they will have me paged."

 

Dean nodded, not taking his eyes from his brother. The doctor slid the door closed behind him, and Dean and Sam were left alone.

 

Dean stepped closer to the bed and looked down at his brother.

 

"Oh, Sammy. What the hell did I do to you?" he asked in a moan.

 

He looked down at his bruised knuckles and cursed himself. He had done this to his brother. He was the reason Sam was lying in a hospital bed now, beaten and bloody, and possibly irrecoverably damaged.

 

There was a chair against the wall. He dragged it over to Sam's bedside and sat down. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he denied himself their release. To cry would be to make himself feel better, and he didn't deserve to feel better. He deserved to suffer.

 

If ever there was a time to pray, it was now, but Dean couldn't bring himself to pray to a god that he knew didn't care about Sam. If he'd cared, he would never have let things go so far between Lucifer and Michael. He wouldn't have cursed Sam to the fate of throwing himself into hell to save the world.

 

Looking down at his clasped hands, he began to speak to the only person left in the world that he truly cared for. His Sam.

 

"I know you've been through a lot, and you're worn down, but I need you to wake up, Sammy. I need you to wake up and talk to me, because I don't know what to do. The doctor is throwing all kinds of scary words around. He's telling me that you might not wake up, but you have to. I need my brother back. I know I said some crappy things to you, and I'm sorry, but if you care for me at all anymore, I need you to wake up."

 

He paused and looked up at his brother. Sam hadn't moved an inch, and his eyes were still closed. He wasn't hearing Dean's pleading.

 

"C'mon, Sammy. You owe me. I need you. Wake up and I will do anything. You want to quit the hunt? I'll drive you to your woman's door and wave you goodbye. You want to go back to school? I'll fill out the applications for you. Just tell me what you need, and I'll do it." He huffed a mirthless laugh. "I'll even let you drive."

 

There was a soft indrawn breath and then the most welcome voice in Dean's world spoke.

 

"I'll hold you to that."

 

Dean's gaze snapped up, and he saw his brother looking at him with weary eyes.

 

"Sammy?"

 

The corner of Sam's mouth tugged up in a smile.

 

"Oh God, Sam."

 

The tears began to fall in earnest, and Dean bowed over and began to sob. His shoulders shook with the force of them, and he felt like he was drowning for air.

 

Sam looked on in confusion. He didn't understand Dean's tears. He had only ever seen him cry a handful of times in his life.

 

"What's wrong?" he asked.

 

Dean didn't feel capable of answering. He covered his head with his hands and allowed himself the release of tears at last.

 

Sam was awake. There was no knowing what would happen next, what sort of damage had been done, but for now, Dean was just happy to hear his brother's voice.


End file.
